It Just Ain't Right
by Wyndi
Summary: Steve reflects on a very frustrating situation that he is helpless to control.


Content: Mature subject matter, m/m slash, language.  
  
Character/s: Steve Austin (Steve Williams), the Undertaker (Mark Callaway)  
  
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, federation, promotion, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. Lyrics, quotations, etc. used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.  
  
* * *  
  
I ain't never been one to do fancy speeches, suck up, or sugarcoat nothin'. If I like someone, they'll know soon enough, I reckon. If I don't got the balls to actually tell 'em myself, I can usually count on someone in the locker room figurin' it out and spillin' the beans to the party in question. They good intentions an' shit, but still, it can be kinda annoyin', ya know?  
  
When I first saw him, I think my damn heart musta stopped. Of course, it was kinda hard to miss him, what with the guy bein' so tall an' everything. And that long hair of his. All I wanted to do was run my fingers through it, feelin' it to see if it was as soft as it looked. I don't mean that to sound gay or nothin' but I really do like long hair.  
  
Then I saw the bike.  
  
Damn, am I a sucker for a nice ride. Fuckin' skulls all over the thing, sweet-ass paint job, chrome that was shinier than my head. How the hell could I not want a piece of that? He came thunderin' up on that bike his first day and I like to've died. Ain't nothin' hotter than a big, tough biker on a loud-ass Harley.  
  
That was what our first conversation was, talkin' about that bike. He probably thought I was just another gearhead, which ain't exactly wrong, but it wasn't why I was talkin' to the guy. I didn't want him to get the idea that I was hittin' on him, at least not at first. Didn't wanna scare the guy off, ya know? I just wanted to take things nice an' slow at the beginning.  
  
I wasn't quite sure how he felt or nothin', so I ended up askin' Hunter's opinion of the situation. Bein' the so-called master of seduction, I figured he could give me his take on things, see if I was barkin' up the wrong tree, fishin' the wrong lake, huntin' the wrong blind. Turns out I wasn't too far off the mark. Problem is, Hunter's got a big mouth and without tellin' me, he went and tattled on me to Mark. Of course, he didn't bother to let me know, just wanted to see me keep sweatin'.  
  
So one day I'm in the ring goin' over the next show's match with Mark, just workin' through some moves, and I grab a handful of biker meat. Totally accidental, ya know, 'cause I didn't mean for it to happen. So I'm all embarrassed and shit, apologizin' and everything, real sincere like. Hopin' he ain't thinkin' I'm all tryin' to feel him up in the ring. So what does he say?  
  
"Tease."  
  
Well, what the fuck do ya say to that? I think I musta stood there with my jaw hangin' for about a minute before I could finally come up with some kinda smartass reply. Unfortunately, the best I could do was, "Nah, if I was teasin', I'd a' given ya a reach around." Well that lit his eyes up like ya wouldn't believe. Guess that answers my question about what side he bats for, huh? For the rest of the practice, he's givin' me these weird looks, like he can see into my head or somethin'. I'm all nervous an' shit, tryin' not to blow my spots, but he won't let up.  
  
We get through the rest of the practice somehow without me makin' too much of a fuckin' idiot of myself and I head for the locker room. I'm kinda hopin' he won't push things, 'cause I wanna be on my guard, ready with a better comeback next time. At the same time, I ain't exactly used to bein' the one chased after, so part of me's hopin' he'll come after me and ask me if I was serious or somethin'.  
  
Sure enough, the minute I'm in the shower and under the water, I hear the door open and shut. Maybe he locked it. I cain't rightly say as I remember or even care. All I know is without turnin' around, I can tell when he's standin' behind me. I can feel the heat comin' off him like waves and it's hotter than the damn shower. He don't say nothin', just stands there. I guess he was waitin' for me to say somethin', react somehow. Hell no. It's his turn to sweat this time.  
  
"You're nervous."  
  
That gravelly voice so close to my ear just about makes my damn knees buckle. Just hearin' him talk makes me fuckin' hard. The guy sounds like he's been drinkin' hard whiskey since he was born and chain smokin' since the age of five. Really fuckin' hot, lemme tell ya. I'm tryin' to think of somethin' to come back with an' all I can think of is, "Oh yeah? What'd I gotta be nervous about?"  
  
"You want me to fuck you through that wall, is what."  
  
Well, hell, he's got me there. I ain't got shit to say to that, since it's the truth. I start to turn around and he's all over me. His hands are on my shoulders shovin' me up against the wall of the shower. Not too much force, but just enough ta let me know he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. Ya think I'm complainin'? No fuckin' way.  
  
His hands are movin' down my shoulders to my back, and he's just about drivin' me pet coon crazy, wantin' him to just bury himself in me. The fuckin' guy's just teasin' me, though. Runnin' his hands up and down my ass, breathin' all heavy in my ear. Ain't no way I'm gonna beg him to fuck me, though. I still got my pride, even though my dick's doin' all the thinkin' right now.  
  
Suddenly he takes his hands off me an' steps back a little. I finally gotta turn around, see what the fuck he's up to. He's lookin' me up and down like I'm a damn T-bone on display at a grocery store. It don't exactly make me feel uncomfortable, but at the same time, it's kinda annoyin'. I should say somethin' about now, but for the life of me, I cain't think of anything that'll sound intelligent. So I just stand there, lettin' him grope me with his eyes.  
  
"You're a lot more patient than I thought you'd be, boy."  
  
I'm dead. I'm fuckin' dead. He keeps talkin' to me like that an' I ain't gonna be able to stop myself. I take a few steps forward an' the motherfucker backs up. What the fuck's he up to now? This shit ain't right. He ain't supposed to be fuckin' with my head like this. He's got ta do somethin', anythin', just so's I can stop goin' crazy with waitin'.  
  
He keeps starin' at me for a few before reachin' out and runnin' a hand along my jaw, draggin' his nails through my beard. I cain't help but close my eyes, it feels so damn good to have him touchin' me. I think I moaned. Or maybe I said his name. Fuck if I can remember. He strokes my cheek with the back of his hand and I'm just about to embarrass myself and ask him to do more when he stops and backs away again.  
  
"Soon. Very soon."  
  
And then he's gone. Motherfucker walks right outta the room without another fuckin' word. Jesus Christ, he's got some nerve, huh? It just ain't right. Now I'm stuck in the shower with a fuckin' hard on that won't quit, fifty million damn fantasies runnin' through my brain, and there ain't a damn thing I can do about it.  
  
Except wait. 


End file.
